The Chicago Connection
by You-drive-me-nuts-miller
Summary: Ambitious young reporter, Jessica Day, is determined to make her mark on the world of journalism. All that stands in her way is one big story, a male dominated world and star reporter, Nicholas Miller.
1. Tête-à-tête

**Something a little different for me... As always, thank you Ztofan!**

It was seven am when the alarm clock woke Jessica; the tinny, metallic clang jerking her rudely away from a pleasant dream of critical acclaim and front page bylines. She fumbled for her glasses, slipping on the heavy plastic frames as she wearily dropped her feet to the floor – _one day closer_, she told herself.

Walking over to her small, lacquered dressing table she reached out for the calendar that hung on the wall beside it, 'Images of Oregon' it was called. The current picture was a colorful vista of Crater Lake - lush with vivid blues and greens. Silently she turned the page to 'November 1955', this month's picture was of a storm-battered lighthouse, grey and moody – just like the one in Yaquina Bay, where she would vacation with her family as a child. She quickly counted the days until her Christmas break, aching to see home again.

When she made her way in the kitchen she was met by the sight of her roommate, Sadie, brewing a fresh pot of tea. Although it was early, she was as glamorous as ever. In fact, Jessica had never actually seen her friend without a face full of pan stick punctuated by glossy red lips. She was pretty sure she slept in it. Whilst hair was wound tightly in metal rollers, she had covered them in a chic turban of gauzy pink material and over her night dress the floral silk robe she wore stung Jess's eyes with its busy print.

"Good morning Sadie."

The other woman paused and pulled a large smile, "Good morning Jessie." The smile twisted into a disapproving look as she noticed what she was wearing, "Honey – why do you insist on wearing those men's pajamas? I got you that lovely nightgown from work just last week." Sadie pouted as Jessica joined her at the small table in the middle of the tiny kitchen.

Jessica looked down at her white and blue striped pajamas. The cotton was softly worn and drowned her body from head to toe. It was like a security blanket. Not an inch of flesh showed. She loved her pajamas. They reminded her of cool Oregon nights and chatting into the early morning with her father when she couldn't sleep.

"I'm saving it," she answered quietly.

"For what?" Sadie scoffed, until she saw the sad tinge in her friend's eyes and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Jessica promised as she picked up the cup of black tea that Sadie had prepared. She knew what her friend meant.

Once, long ago, she had been engaged. Spencer had been her high school boyfriend - star of the Lacrosse team, popular, handsome... She had been amazed that he wanted to date her, that he had noticed _her_. She was in awe of him. When he left for Oregon State University, they had become engaged - the first girl in her class to do so. A year later she too had graduated and started at a two year college studying journalism. It was a new world to the naive young Jessica; she soaked up every lecture, every assignment - thirsty for knowledge.

Then, one spring he told her he was transferring – he had been accepted to study law thousands of miles away in Illinois. He wanted her to come with him, which meant becoming his wife and dropping out of college.

She had spent a restless night tossing and turning against the cool sheets of her childhood bed. But when the sun eventually rose she had made her decision. She couldn't. She wanted this too badly.

Six months later she heard he had married a girl he'd met at law school. And that was that; her heart broke in two and it had never came close to being fixed in the years since.

It had been almost a year since she had moved to the bright lights of Los Angeles and in those twelve months Jessica had gone on a grand total of one date. His name was Greg and he sold advertising at the paper. He'd wooed her with flowers and a slick tongue. They had gone for dinner and a movie but when he'd tried to grope her in the theater, she'd hit him with her purse and ran off.

Since then, she'd sworn away from men. They were nothing but trouble and heartbreak. Instead, her career was her everything.

She yawned loudly into her teacup.

"Late night?" Sadie asked as Jessica rubbed her eyes.

"Uh-huh. Marnie asked me to help with the south city section…"

"Jessica – you have to stop doing other peoples work! You never get any credit! Have they even paid you for all that overtime you did covering the mayor's election?"

She shook her head in reply, "Not exactly… But I know I'm _this_ close to a promotion. I'm going to be the first female staff writer, I can feel it." Pushing back her chair, she stood, "I just have to show them how much I want it. And on that note, I have a bus to catch."

Sadie sighed as she watched her friend walk away. She needed to find Jessica a guy – fast. Her mind began to mull over the possibilities as she flicked on the small radio next to the stove and began to sway her hips along to the soft tones of 'Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing'.

* * *

After a crowded bus ride, Jess smoothed down her thick wool skirt and quickly hurried through the turning glass doors of the Daily News offices. Every time she walked through the speckled marble hallway she felt a rush of excitement. This was her dream – ever since she was editor of Jefferson High's newspaper - to be a real reporter. And now she was. Kind of.

It had only taken five years running the news desk at the Heppner Tribune in upstate Oregon. Five years of farming reports and high school football games before she finally got a chance in the big city – Los Angeles; land of Hollywood and movie stars - where dreams come true. Or at least that was the plan.

It was true that in the past year she had mostly written obituaries, wedding announcements and the odd fluff piece, but she knew, just _knew_, her big break was around the corner.

Arriving at her desk, she loosened the heavy buttons of her jacket and hung it on the coatrack she shared with fellow junior reporter, Sam Sweeney. Their desks were pushed together in the far corner of news floor, next to a drafty window that let in the occasional gust of frigid air. Only 22 and fresh out of college, he was shy but she liked that because it meant she was able to concentrate on her work most of the time rather than make the inane small talk that seemed compulsory in other parts of the office.

"Hey Jessica," he gave her one of his big, goofy smiles and she smiled back. She knew he had a crush on her. It was cute. His floppy blonde hair hung over his eyes as he watched her sit and his long, gangly legs were crossed lazily in front of his desk.

"Good morning Sam, how are you?"

His eyes widened at her attention, "Great, just great. Guess what? I've been asked to join news team starting next week – isn't that amazing?"

The smile stayed plastered on her face but her heart sank. Sam? On the news team? But he was so much more inexperienced and younger and…

"Oh, um, congratulations." She nodded and cleared her throat as she sat down and tidied her desk. She straightened the silver frame that held her certificate in journalism from Wellington Ladies College. _It will be your turn soon. It will be your turn soon_, she repeated to herself as she pulled off the cover from her typewriter and began to finish yesterday's transcriptions.

* * *

The day stretched out and the sky began to darken through the small window to her right - scattering amber tones across the street below. Jessica stayed firmly rooted to her desk, leaving only to slurp down a cup of tomato soup from Joe's deli before she resumed her work.

Lost dogs, parades, school fairs – an endless list of mundane events that she pumped out in a steady stream of adjectives and superlatives; ending each rapidly typed line by sliding across the platen of her trusty Royal. Most of the other staff were switching to electric powered versions now but Jessica was old fashioned and preferred to do things the old fashioned way.

With a flourish she stacked another piece of neatly typed paper on the growing stack in the black wire 'out' tray on the corner of her crowded desk. Stifling a yawn, she looked up at the large, circular clock on the wall opposite her. Ten thirty. Picking up another set of notes she decided that this would be her last. Her eyelids felt heavy and she rubbed them quickly as she tried to focus.

The clash of the wooden and glass door at the end of the room swinging open startled her and she looked up – who could it be at this time? She was always the last to leave. She'd made a deal with Ernie the security guard – she got to stay late and he had a regular supply of her home baking.

"So this is where the magic happens!" The voice was slightly slurred and accented with a thick drawl she couldn't quite place. Hesitantly, she stood and looked in the direction it came from.

Beside the door stood a man. He wore a brown wool three piece suit - the coat hung open sloppily whilst a soft fedora perched awkwardly on his head. It was dark, but she could just about make out a strong, stubble covered jawline. One of his arms lay across the shoulders of a very young, very blonde looking girl swathed in a thick, grey fur coat. Jess scowled.

"Oh, Nicholas, this is sooo exciting! Are you sure we can be here?" She looked up at him through her heavily blackened lashes, fluttering them seductively as he smiled down at her.

"Sure doll, I'm king pin around here. I can do what I want."

"Excuse me," Jess called as she marched across the wooden parquet floor, "Can I help you?"

The man turned on his heel and swung to face his questioner. Slowly, achingly slowly, he looked her up and down – taking in her prim grey skirt and the unruly curls that escaped the pins that strained to hold them. The smile that danced on his lips made her stomach flip. It was like he was imagining her, well, _naked_. An indignant hot flush rose from her belly.

"And you are?" he asked, licking his lips a little as he spoke.

"I'm Jessica Day, community reporter. And who are you?"

He reached out a hand, "Nicholas Miller, star reporter." She took the offered hand and shook it firmly. It was large, warm and completely covered her own pale fingers. As she got closer to him, she could smell the tang of liquor on his breath. She recoiled at the odor – men who drank hard liquor were trouble, her mother had taught her that much.

"Oh, the mysterious Mr. Miller. I thought you never came into the office? Actually, I thought you weren't even real, just some myth the secretarial pool had made up."

"If I knew we had broads as cute as you working here I would be here every day," he smiled slyly, "But you are correct, I work from home mostly. The hours I keep are, shall we say, unusual." He gave her a loaded look that made her cheeks redden. She took a deep breath, blowing it out over her bangs so they danced in mid-air. Her eyes rolled upwards, _what a sleaze. _His date began to click her heels, becoming bored by the exchange.

"Honey, are we going dancing soon?" she flicked her blonde mane over one shoulder as she pursed her blood red lips.

He spun to face her and cupped her chin in his hand, "Sure doll, hey, how about you go down and get Ernie to hail us a cab?" He finished with a wink.

Giggling, she nodded and tottered out of the room, the clack of her shoes echoing as she continued down the hall to the elevator.

The two remaining occupants of the room coolly observed each other. He stretched out an arm and leaned against the nearest desk.

"Does Schmidt know about your extracurricular uses of the office, Mr. Miller?"

"Nick, please," he said, holding up his hand, "And yes, as a matter of fact he does. Me and Schmidt, we go way back."

"Men," she scoffed as she turned to return to her desk.

"What was that?" he asked, quickly following after her.

She swung around and frowned, "You men, you're all the same. Skirt-chasing, chauvinist pigs. Now if a woman behaved the way you did, well, she'd be out on her heel in an instant."

"And your point is?"

She huffed in exasperation as she flopped into her chair and began to angrily press at the heavy metal keys of her Royal. She pushed her legs sharply under the desk, wincing as she scraped her stockings against the coarse wooden surface. "Damn!" she cried as she watched the snag begin to creep up the silky material.

Nick raised his eyebrows and looked down at the snag, "Nice gams," he muttered in his gruff yet dulcet voice. She responded with a brooding stare and narrowed eyes.

"Why are you still here?"

"I don't think we're done just yet-" he insisted, drawing out the word 'done' in a soft slur.

"Don't you have a date to go on? Or do you have to get her home before curfew? How old is she? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

He rested his forearms on her desk and leaned in until their faces were inches apart. She was again assaulted by the scent of bourbon, but this time mixed with cologne, sweat and soap. She closed her eyes as she drank it in. He was a jerk, but she had to admit he smelled good. "In fact, she is nineteen and a freshman at UCLA. She wants to be an actress. The next Marilyn Monroe."

"Oh, don't they all," she snapped back at him with a wriggle of her shoulders. She raised her eyebrows haughtily as she continued to type, trying to ignore him.

He rubbed his face with one hand, "My, my, if I didn't know better Miss Day, I'd say you were jealous!"

"Jealous?" she cried, "Of that little, little-"

"Mind your tongue there, lady."

She scowled once more and lay back in her chair, "If you must know, Mr. Miller, I am currently living my dream. Being a reporter is all I have ever wanted and now I am one. What have _I_ got to be jealous of?"

He smirked in response and picked up a sheath of paper from the neat stack in front of her. "Missing dogs, huh? Sounds like you're on top of your game, Day."

Sighing heavily, she looked up at him over the thick rim of her glasses, "As enlightening as our tête-à-tête has been, if you don't mind, I have a deadline. Some of us actually have to be here in the morning."

Straightening up, he tipped the soft brim of his hat to her and began to walk away.

"See ya later, doll."

"Don't call me doll!" she called after him, listening to his footsteps fade way.

She felt her body relax as the tension that had grown inside her throughout their exchange evaporated into the air around her body. _So that's the famous reporter Nick Miller. Huh, what a jerk. I hope I never have to see him again._

She pursed her lips and stretched out her fingers before she tapped away the last few lines of her report on the Grosvenor Parish bake sale.

_Yep, I never want to see that smug, arrogant face again!_


	2. Neighbors

**Sorry for the delay in getting to this... But now it's my number one priority so full steam ahead! Happy to have you along for the ride ;D**

Inhaling sharply, she winced and reached up her hand to massage her neck – it was stiff and aching. The surface below her cheek was hard and cold: what had happened to her pillow? The cold was making her head pound and as she slowly tried to lift it she felt something inside it lilt to one side making her dizzy and slightly nauseous.

Lazily she rubbed her eyes, as she reached across to find her alarm clock. What time was it? Her hands fumbled, blind. Wait. Something felt wrong.

Prying one eye open the area in front of her slowly came into focus. Oh…

This was not her bed. This was not her room.

She sat up like a shot, snapping out of her tired fog instantly. S_he had fallen asleep at her desk._

Her eyes flashed to the clock across the room. _Eight thirty. Eight thirty!_ How had she slept so long? As one hand scrambled for her glasses the other reached up to her cheek, pulling away a leaf of paper that had attached itself to her skin – a report on a Santa Monica wine fair; the type smudged and blurry. Scowling she tossed it back down onto the desk.

The newsroom was slowly beginning to fill. Thankfully, most people didn't arrive until after nine and her desk was partially hidden. Frantically she began to smooth out her clothing – her blouse was creased and had worked its way out of her skirt. Heart pounding, she unpicked the pins that held her heavy, uncooperative hair in place and tried to twist it into some semblance of normality.

How on earth had she fallen asleep at her desk! The last thing she remembered was that Miller guy, _urgh, _then typing one more story…

She began to calm herself as she realized that no one seemed to have noticed she had slept at her desk. In fact, no one seemed to have noticed _her_. No big surprise there then.

Reaching for her purse, she dipped her head and made a move for the restroom, skirting the edges of the room and avoiding eye contact with the handful of people already working. She reached the doorway into the small elevator atrium where the bathrooms were situated. Quietly, she slipped out, closing it carefully behind her.

Relieved, she let her eyes close – the tiredness of earlier resuming its assault. Maybe she was working too much? Sleeping in the office was a new low – even for her. Maybe this evening she would leave before it got dark outside…

"What a lovely surprise."

_That voice._

Her eyes flashed open and instantly she groaned. Of all people, why was he the first one she saw this morning?

"Hello Mr. Miller," she replied flatly.

With a large smile, he removed his hat – this time grey felt – and tucked his hand in his pocket. "Nick, I insist."

"Nick," she echoed with a small smile and a nod.

He cleared his throat as they stood together in the empty atrium. She tucked her purse more tightly under her arm as she snuck a glance at him. He'd shaved since last night –he looked cleaner and, well, different. His brown suit had been replaced by a grey pinstripe with a crisp white shirt affixed at his neck by a navy blue tie. So, he didn't always look like he'd just stumbled out of a bar.

"Well, I was just on my way-"

"What's that on your face?" His eyes narrowed as he stepped a little closer and inspected her cheek. "It looks like…"

Panicked, she pulled her compact quickly out of her purse, tugging it open and peering at her reflection. When she saw the smudged, black print that coated one side of her face she blushed fiercely.

"Oh, um." She looked up and saw him begin to smile. _He was going to laugh at her, the- _"Goodbye!"

Pushing past him she ran for the restroom door, falling inside and dashing to the marble coated worktop. Frantically, she grabbed a towel and dampened it with cool water. She scrubbed her face until her skin was even redder than before-the towel becoming blackened with ink.

Looking up, she stared at herself in the mirror. She was a mess – between the raw skin on her cheek, her failed attempt at fixing her hair and the still rumpled clothing she looked ridiculous. She turned laid her back against the glossy white tiles that lined the wall. _Way to go Day, you just looked like an idiot in front of the paper's star reporter._ This day was not going well at all.

* * *

"Jessica, here are some pieces Schmidt wants you to work on for the commitments column."

Nadia was the editor's secretary. Very tall and very, very thin she spoke with a thick accent that Jessica had never been able to place. She accepted the brown folder with a smile.

"Thanks Nadia."

She expected the other woman to move away quickly, instead she paused and perched herself on the edge of the desk, looking across the room with an intense stare.

"Um, can I help you?"

Nadia looked down, as though she had forgotten where she was. She gave a wry smile and leaned closer, whispering, "Just having a look at your new neighbor."

"What?" Jess furrowed her brow and stood, looking in the direction that Nadia was staring. Six feet away he sat. Him. Her tormentor. His feet, encased in polished black brogues were perched on his desk and he lay sprawled out, his back to the two women. In his hand he clutched a phone as he talked animatedly. "What is he doing here?" she hissed as Nadia sat back down.

Nadia shrugged, "No idea. He just came into the office this morning and said he wanted a desk now – and you know Schmidt."

"Yeah," Jess scowled.

Footsteps announced someone approaching.

"We meet again, Miss Day."

"Yes we do, Nick." Jess rolled her eyes.

"I see you sorted out your little, um problem…" he gestured to her cheek and she turned pink once more.

"Yes, yes I did."

Nadia leaned forward in between the two and clutched onto his arm, cocking up her leg behind her as she did. "Mr. Miller, don't forget if you need anything, a_nd I mean anything, _you know who to ask."

He dug his finger into his collar, as if to loosen it a little.

"I'll be sure to remember that."

"You do," she replied with a wink as she walked away, swinging her hips and giving a lingering glance over her shoulder.

Jess cleared her throat. "Well, _Nick, _as you can see I am busy-" she gestured to the new stack of files in front of her.

"Oh, I hoped we could get a coffee, maybe I could apologize for last night. I'd had a few alcoholic beverages." He rested his hands on the desk where Nadia had just been sitting. She looked down at them, damn they were big… "I may have been a bit-"

"Of a jerk?" she interjected, dipping her head so she could see him over the top of her glasses.

"I was gonna go with brusque, but," he gave a little shrug, "The lady is always right."

She sighed heavily. Every word he spoke seemed to be laced with an undertone of innuendo.

"Look, Mr. Miller-"

"Nick."

"Whatever," she said with a shake of her hand, "I know men. More specifically, I know men like you. You may pull the wool over the eyes of every other woman in the metropolitan area, but you don't fool me for a second. You're wasting your time." She ran her hand along the round, metallic keyboard in front of her, "So like I said, I'm busy."

"Oh, please don't let me keep you from your important journalistic activities, _neighbor."_

For a second she thought she saw a flash of something playful pass his face but then it was gone and so was he.

_Great, just great. Way to go with your big mouth Day._

She had a feeling this was not going to be her last interaction with Nick Miller.

* * *

It was getting close to six and she was determined that today she would not sleep at her desk. She was dreaming of a hot bath and soft cotton pajamas as she rolled another piece of crisp, white paper into the royal.

The newsroom was quiet. Only a few other staff remained – most having gone home to their families at five pm exactly. The thought of having a family to go home to made her stomach lurch and pine for home. _Maybe one day, _she silently told herself.

"Nick, I don't see the story here, a few girls go missing, it's LA! It happens all the time-"

She spun around to see the rotund shape of their editor, Schmidt, working his way across the newsroom, his buttons stretching across his large abdomen. Behind him walked Nick Miller, his tie undone and a stack of papers in his hand.

"I know this is a story Schmidt, I can feel it in my gut."

Schmidt paused and turned to face Nick. They were about ten feet from where Jess sat. She sunk down in her seat, as if to make herself invisible.

"I just don't see it Nick. I mean, if you can find out some more details-"

"I can do that. You know I have the best connections on the night scene in LA. Give me a few days, I'll get some firm evidence." Nick tossed the papers he was carrying onto a nearby desk, moving to pick up his own hat and jacket.

"Okay. But you have forty eight hours, and I need something firm! The Daily News does not print speculation."

Nick tipped his hat and turned to leave, "Trust me."

Schmidt sighed and shook his head, before continuing his slow walk to the exit.

When she was sure he was gone, Jess crept over to the desk where Nick had dropped the papers he was holding. Quickly she flipped through them.

There were missing persons reports: all girls in their twenties with attached photos of wide eyed beauties looking to make their mark on Hollywood. As she scanned the details they all seemed so similar – small town girls who had moved to Los Angeles to work in the movies, they'd all frequented the local bar scene and had been seen to be talking to older men. Within a few weeks, each one had vanished without a trace.

Jess felt her pulse began to quicken. This was it – her chance! An opportunity to be part of a real story. This was exactly the lead she had been looking for.

Now she had one small obstacle to overcome. Convincing Nick Miller to let her work on the case with him.

She winced as she remembered their earlier conversation. This may be more difficult than she had thought.


	3. We need an in

**Sorry this took so long...**

Tapping her fingers and chewing on a pencil, Jessica was deep in thought. She stared at the yellow notepad on her desk, the thin grey lines that crossed it blurring as her eyes lost their focus. Picking up the white, porcelain cup to her left she took a long sip of tea. Tea helped her think.

These thoughts had consumed her ever since she overheard her editor and fellow reporter talking last night. She had spent the past 12 hours trying to think of a way to convince Nick Miller to let her work on the story of the missing girls. The gut feeling that this was the story that would kick start her career had only grown as the hours passed by.

Pulling off her glasses, she put them down and rubbed her eyes. It was only 9 am but she had already been at her desk for over an hour. She was hoping to catch him as he arrived this morning, try and sweet talk him into letting her work with him. Around her the room was beginning to fill with her fellow reporters. Every time she heard footsteps approaching, she straightened up in her seat, holding her breath until she saw it wasn't him, then deflating a little into herself, waiting.

Wincing, she scrunched up her face and began to regret her earlier attitude towards him. Sure, she still thought he was a jerk - but if she had learned one thing in journalism it was never to burn bridges. And today she really hoped she hadn't burned this one. Sadie told her all the time that she was far too harsh when it came to the opposite sex. But that was how Jessica Day looked after herself-if no man ever got within six feet of her, how could they ever hurt her again?

Slowly she relaxed a little; it turned out the early appearance of Nick Miller the day before had been a fluke. She pulled the cover from her Royal and picked up a stack of notes - if anyone else was this late...

Finally, he arrived - sauntering in at quarter after eleven. She watched as he leisurely slipped off his coat and placed it, and his black fedora, on the hat stand that was halfway in between their desks. His face looked tired and his suit wasn't quite as sharp as she had become accustomed to. Still, she found herself eyeing up the grey three piece as he emptied his briefcase. His back was to her, the material strained over his thighs as he reached across the desk. Oh… _Jessica, stop it! _She chastised herself quickly. _Don't let him get to you_.

She shifted in her seat and smoothed her hair back with her hands. Next, she pulled a tube of ruby lipstick from her top drawer and hastily ran a thin layer over her lips – quickly running her tongue over her teeth to remove any residue. So far, she had figured he thought himself as a bit of a ladies man. In that case she had decided to try and appeal to his male sensibilities. Time to turn on the charm.

"Hello Nicholas," she smiled as she sidled up to him clutching her notepad.

He leaned back in his seat, interlacing his fingers behind his head. "Oh, so it's Nicholas now is it?"

Smiling, Jessica placed one hand on his desk and leaned forward, giving him her best throaty laugh, "Oh Nicholas, I think we got off to a bad start yesterday."

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a look of disbelief. She felt her confidence begin to seep out into a puddle at her feet. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…

"Really?" he asked, folding his arms nonchalantly as she continued to talk.

"Of course. I mean, since we are going to be neighbors we should really try and get along."

"As far as I can remember, Miss Day, yesterday you called me a jerk and pretty much said that _me_ talking to you was wasting _your_ time. So," he moved his hands so they were clasped in front of him and leaned closer, "You can excuse my confusion."

Pausing, she kept a tense smile on her face as she wracked her brain, _damn you and your big mouth, Jessica!_

As she thought, his scent began to fill the gap between them, distracting her - it was starting to become familiar: that heady mixture of cologne with a hit of bourbon laced on top. It was strangely intoxicating. She cleared her throat, "Um, well, you see…" she fumbled for the words as he watched her with an intense gaze – his eyes burning darkly, boring into her with a glint of amusement hidden within. He seemed to be getting some kind of enjoyment out of her awkwardness. Damn him.

She was only saved when the harsh East coast tones of their editor's voice rang out across the room.

"Miller – my office, now!"

"On my way!" Nick replied, calling out to Schmidt's office across the room, "Well, it's been a pleasure as always. Perhaps we can continue this later, Miss Day?"

Giving her no chance to reply, he swiftly picked himself up and sauntered across the office, one hand in his pocket. She watched him go.

The bright morning light from the windows behind cast his outline in a dark shadow – wavy hair, broad shoulders, well cut pants. She caught herself again – _stop Jessica_. His effect on her was annoying. But it made sense – that was his only trick: ladies man, smooth operator. Every reporter had an angle and that was his. And she wasn't going to fall for that.

* * *

She had paced back and forth impatiently outside of Schmidt's office for nearly 25 minutes. Nadia had given her some odd looks, asking if she needed 'to bathroom'. In reply Jessica had insisted she needed to speak to 'the boss', but could wait until his meeting was over.

Beyond the beveled glass walls of the office, she could hear an intense discussion taking place. Tiptoeing closer to the wooden door, she placed her ear near the gap between it and the door frame-

"_Miller, you can't just go in there with your usual approach-this is a big story. We need to plan. We need an 'in.'" She heard Schmidt sigh heavily._

"_Schmidt – why do I need to change my game now? You know me, I get in with the hoodlums, the nightlife, get my story and – bam!"_

"_I don't know Miller, this is different. Most of your stories involve deadbeat criminals, petty theft, racketeering. We just need to think…"_

Taking this as her cue, Jessica rapped quickly on the glass panel of the door.

"In a meeting!" Schmidt's high pitched voice sliced easily through walls of the office.

"Um, sir it's important," she replied, heart pounding, knees feeling weak with nerves.

"You have sixty seconds," came the sharp reply.

Quickly, she turned the round brass handle of the door and burst into the small, hot office. Schmidt sat at his desk – his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his considerable girth struggling to be restrained by his button down and suspenders. Her eyes darted to her left where she saw Nick Miller leaning lazily against the wall next to an open window – one leg casually tucked behind the other.

"Who are you?" Schmidt asked.

"That's Day," Nick answered distractedly, pushing himself away from the wall, "Works the community pages." She watched him furrow his brow before running his fingers across it, then down his face.

"Oh," Schmidt nodded, looking up and giving her a sharp stare. "You now have 45 seconds."

Jessica wrung her hands together in front of her and looked anxiously from man to man, "I have your 'in,'" she said triumphantly.

Both men looked at her blankly.

The room seemed to become boiling hot, as she felt a flush rise up her chest and neck. "The girls, the missing ones, I know how you can get the story."

Nick narrowed his eyes at her, "Were you listening-"

"Yes," she admitted, looking across at him, "And we can talk about that later, but, please listen to me now. What you need is a girl."

Schmidt sat up in his chair, his brow wrinkled in concentration, as Nick rolled his eyes and walked over to the desk.

"Young girls, going missing? You need a decoy. You need a girl who can go undercover, get your story."

Nodding slowly, Schmidt pushed himself up from his chair, his breath heaving with the effort, "Yes, I like it," he began to shake his index finger at no one in particular, "A girl, she can play the part, get the inside scoop. Well done, um-"

"Day, Jessica Day." Jessica smiled triumphantly and stepped forward, her hand outstretched.

Ignoring the offered hand, he continued, "Thank,s Miss Day, so if that's all…"

Jessica hesitantly took a step further into the office, "Wait – sir, I'd like to volunteer. You know, for the assignment."

"You?" scoffed Nick, "No," he shook his head, laughing, moving to perch on the edge of the editor's oversized desk.

"Yes me," she insisted, placing her hands on her hips, "I'm young enough-"

"-Just," chipped in Nick and she gave him a scowl.

"And I'm not known on the nightlife scene – most of the other girls in the office are- plus I'm a trained journalist so I'll know what notes to take and the questions to ask and-"

"Fine," Schmidt said with a shake of his hand, "Miller, meet your new partner."

Jessica balled her fists and silently whispered, 'yes', before composing herself and returning her hands to her hips.

"But Schmidt, you know I work best alone-"

"Miller, you're lucky I am letting you pursue this story in the first place. You need an 'in,' and it's her." He pointed a finger at Jessica before turning to Nick, "You have one week to bring me something good. That's seven days, if you can't count." He sank back in his chair which groaned heavily under his weight, "Now, you two scram, I have a call to make."

"But-" Nick began to protest.

"I said scram!" Schmidt cried as he picked up the glossy black receiver.

Quickly Jessica retreated from the office, followed closely by Nick. The door clicked closed behind them and they stood face to face, mere inches apart.

He began to tut softly before he bit his bottom lip, "And now it all makes sense."

"What?" she replied defensively.

"The act? Earlier? I knew you wanted something. I saw right through it." He slipped his hands back into his pockets as his eyes narrowed once more. She hated it when he looked at her like that.

"Ha," Jessica tossed her head back in amusement, "Fine, I was trying to butter you up. I still think you're a jerk. But I would work with the biggest jerk in California, if it meant getting a place on the news desk."

"Ahh, the penny drops. You were trying to use me."

She shrugged, "I'm a career girl. Anyway, isn't that _your_ whole approach? Using people? Maybe the tables need to turn sometimes, Miller."

"So it seems they have," he rolled his eyes, "Come on Day, if we're going to work together I'd better get you up to speed."

"What?" she replied in disbelief, "No jokes, no sexist remarks?"

He looked at her pointedly, "I can be a gentleman sometimes," he said softly.

She stared at him for a moment. Although the newsroom was filled with the sound of chatter and the clack of typewriter keys, everything seemed to become quiet. He looked sad. His eyes had lost their teasing sparkle, his face was blank –devoid of the usual taunting expressions. A moment passed like this, just looking at each other before she shook her head and spoke.

"Okay, lead the way."

* * *

"So this is all you have?" she asked as they huddled over the small selection of police reports and photographs that were strewn across Nick's desk.

"Uh-huh," he sighed and began to remove his cufflinks and roll up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing deeply tanned forearms, "These are the girls who have disappeared in the past three months – twelve in total. The only connection I can see is that there were all seen at Clyde's in the few nights before they disappeared."

"Clyde's?" Jessica asked quizzically.

He looked at her in wonder, "You really don't go out, do you? Clyde's is only the hottest new club in LA. Opened six months ago. The owner is some tycoon from Chicago, 'Big Bob'. He's hardly ever seen. But this guy," he pushed a picture of a tall man surrounded by a gaggle of bleach blondes across the desk, "This is Coach, the manager, he's the one we need to talk to."

"Okay," she nodded, "So we go to Clyde's, I get talking to Coach, bam, we're in."

Nick began to chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked up at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Look, lady, you need to understand. The girls this guy goes for, they're, you know, the glamorous kind… and you, well, you know…"

"Are you trying to say I am not attractive enough?" Her eyes bugged out as she spoke, her chest beginning to heave with indignation.

"No… I mean, I just-"

"No, you are trying to say I can't pull this off. I'm too stiff and uptight? Just because I don't wiggle around in tight blouses and four inch heels all day does not mean I'm not an attractive woman!"

He raised his hands, "That's not what I said-"

"It's what you implied!" Sulking a little she raised herself to full height and pointed her nose in the air. "Mr. Miller, you worry about your contacts and let me worry about Coach. Let's start tonight. Pick me up at eight pm."

Before he had the chance to reply, she picked her coat up from her desk, grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

* * *

Mason's department store was busy for a Friday afternoon. Jessica fought her way through the thronging crowds, holding on tightly to her purse as she pushed past smartly dressed men and women, full racks of dresses and glass cases of baubles and purses.

"Sadie!" she cried when she saw her friend, "Sadie!" She waved her hand until she caught her attention, Sadie broke into a large smile beckoning her closer.

"Oh my Jessie, this is a surprise! You're normally chained to your desk at this time!"

"Well, this is an emergency. Sadie, I need your help. With this," she beckoned to her outfit, running her outstretched hand down her coat.

"Really?"

Jessica nodded. Sadie pulled her into a hug.

"I thought you'd never ask!" She turned away and looked at a tall redheaded girl who was stacking small boxes of gloves, "Veronica! We have an emergency! Clear the fitting room!"

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	4. Cinderella

**Hello! Guys, I'm blown away by all the positive reviews and support for this story – you are all amazing and you make continuing this worthwhile. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

The shoes pinched. The pointed shape and new white leather were unkind to her toes, pushing them together in an unnatural way, making her lean slightly forward as she walked. She kicked them away, giving her feet a few moments respite before they must return to their prison of sorts.

Curled and teased, her hair was full of bobby pins. Her bangs were swept back from her face, her thick locks twisted into a chignon that sat low on her neck. Sadie had finished the style with a crystal encrusted lily comb, set neatly at her hairline. She looked so different. It had taken her a few glances in the mirror to recognize herself.

Her skin had been buffed and powdered to within an inch of its life. The soft freckles that covered her cheeks were hidden, her eyes lined thickly with kohl and heaving with the weight of heavy, dark lashes.

As she sat, the teal chiffon of her dress scratched. It's rough, foiled surface was strange and unfamiliar. The sweetheart neckline was lower than she was comfortable with and every moment she worried her small breasts would betray her and let the dress slip down.

But…

For the first time, in a long time, she felt _beautiful._

Sadie and Veronica had fussed over her for almost two hours that afternoon, making her try on dress after dress until she was finally zipped into the strapless, ballerina length gown that she now wore. Her slim, pale legs were wrapped in expensive silk stockings that felt divine and decadent against her skin, whisper thin as they were. The dress made her sit straighter, taller. It demanded a certain kind of deportment that Jessica had let herself begin to forget.

Grasping the material between her finger and thumb, she thought back to the last time she had felt the expectant buzz of excitement. The thrill of a new dress and a night when unknown delights awaited. It had been too long. Priorities had changed. She had changed.

Wait - had she? If so, why did she still feel this lilt of excitement in her stomach? Why did this uncomfortable outfit make her feel like a million dollars – like anything was possible?

Grasping her glass of cherry brandy tighter- the one Sadie insisted she drink to calm her nerves – her heart began to race. The uncertainty and fear she had pushed away all day began to flow back into her, crashing against her like a tide. Wearing down her scant level of confidence.

Could she pull this off? Be the ingénue? Mysterious, glamorous, sexy… She scoffed into her glass. No one ever saw her that way. She was the girl you barely noticed, except when she did something goofy. Her mind wandered back to the day when Spencer had first talked to her – sauntering to her side as she opened her locker.

_What did he want? Tutoring? To know something about Amy Sue? Was he lost?_

No. He'd wanted to talk to her. He even knew her name. She blushed at the memory, the warmth of the feeling swamping her. That realization that he liked her; that she was worth someone's attention in that way. When he'd finally asked her on a date, her mouth had ran dry and she was merely able to nod in agreement.

That was her reaction to the rare times the opposite sex showed an interested.

So, combined with her complete lack of belief that she could pull this off – be _that _girl – she shook inside.

"Honey, I have to go now." Sadie emerged from her room, swathed in glamorous black satin. "You look great." She wrapped her arms around Jessica and held her tight for a moment.

"Thanks," she replied with a small smile. "I'm just a little nervous about playing a part –I'm not much of an actress." She twisted her hands in her lap as she spoke.

"You'll do great," Sadie insisted, taking hold of her hand, "You're a great reporter – don't forget that."

"I hope so. Enjoy your date – Thomas, is it?"

Sadie picked up her purse and turned back to look at Jessica over her shoulder – "Marco, he's Italian," she replied rolling the word of her tongue in an exaggerated way. She gave her shoulders a shake and slipped out of the apartment.

A few minutes passed and the rounded, fruity flavor of the brandy was starting to produce a mellow buzz. She steeled herself. This would be her first night out with alcohol and dancing in a long time. Truth be told – she was a little excited. Even if this was for work. And even if she had to spend the evening with Nicholas Miller.

As if on cue, she was startled in that moment by a soft tapping on the door. Her feet sought out her shoes, sliding back in easily as she stood and smoothed her skirt. Reaching the door, she paused for a second and taking a deep breath. _You can do this Jessica, _she told herself, before she pulled open the door and faced her visitor.

His head was dipped - face obscured by a stylish grey Homburg. He stood with his hand pressing against the doorframe, leaning into it nonchalantly. Encasing him was that scent; that crazy masculine mix of cologne and liquor, that clung in the back of her throat and made her belly feel warm and tight. A fragrance that was becoming disarmingly familiar.

"Good evening, Miss D-"

The words caught in his throat as he lifted his head. She watched as he paused and narrowed his eyes. The expression on his face was strange, blank even. His mouth was slightly agape: she could see the pink of his tongue as it rose to the roof of his mouth. A flash of his white teeth was visible below the dip of his full upper lip. _Why was she staring at his mouth?_

As if a switch had been flicked, his expression changed, the familiar arrogant smirk returned. Straightening up his body, he purred, "Good evening, Miss Day."

"Good evening Mr. Miller."

There was a few seconds of hesitation – this wasn't a date, _definitely not, _but the rules for a work based social evening were muggy and indistinct. Should she invite him in? Offer him a drink? Quickly, her eyes moved to the nearest object – his body. She darted her gaze up and down. It was yet another suit. Dark grey. Double breasted. Pressed into sharp creases.

She bit her lip – immediately regretting it when she tasted the waxy red lipstick. Finally she snuck a look up again, scanning his face in a second. He looked like he was freshly shaved. Clean. It was… distracting.

"Are you ready?" he finally asked, as he stood hands in pockets, shifting lightly on his feet. He seemed as confused as she was about the etiquette required this evening.

"Um, yes, just, um, I'll get my purse." Her lips and tongue tripped awkwardly over the words and she felt a fierce blush rise as she turned to pick up her stole and borrowed evening purse. She silently thanked someone unknown that she was wearing such a thick layer of pan stick that her original skin tone –and any blush it held –were hidden to the observer.

Reaching the door she gave Nick a tense smile, hesitating before stepping into the hallway.

"After you," he gestured, pointing to the empty corridor. She turned her key in the lock, slipping in into her purse, before walking ahead. Focused, she tried to ignore the nipping sensation of her shoes and attempted to balance on the spindly four inch heels.

* * *

"So, you're my cousin and you are new to the city."

"And I want to be in movies."

"Yes, and I am showing you the nightlife tonight."

The Oldsmobile was spacious inside and Jessica sank comfortably into the white leather seat. Clearly, the star reporter received a star paycheck. Her feminist side rose and became ticked off at the inequality in the modern world, she thought back to her last meager salary payment.

"Okay," she nodded, glancing up at the driver's mirror where she caught him looking at her. Their eyes met and they both broke quickly away.

"I hope we can pull this off," he added, glancing back up into the mirror.

His eyes were upon her again and she felt self-conscious. The expression that someone's gaze could be 'hot' had always made her laugh. But the heat rising in her chest was no laughing matter. Flashes of hot and cold alternated as his eyes held on her. He seemed almost to be looking through her.

She felt incredibly exposed. An urge to pull up the low neckline of her dress was overwhelming but would only serve to highlight the soft dip between her breasts that was in part causing her so much anguish. Silently she scolded Sadie for talking her into wearing this.

Her fingers dug into her stole and pulled it tighter around her shoulders.

Why was he still looking? Men never looked at her. Not in that way.

But eventually, his eyes returned to the road.

He drove in silence the rest of the way – the radio low in the background. She glanced around at the world passing by as they traveled. Darkness, bright lights, theaters, bars, late night diners. Women in fancy dresses being escorted by smartly clad gentlemen. The car felt hot. Why did it feel so hot?

Relief flooded her as they pulled to a stop.

In the blink of an eye she felt the door beside her being opened-had she blanked out for a moment?

His hand was outstretched and before she had time to think she had reached out and taken it, letting him lift her from the car onto the sidewalk. Within his, her hand felt tiny and delicate. As he grasped her fingers, his thumb ran slowly across her knuckles, delicately tracing each one. Her breath caught at his touch; strong yet shockingly tender all at once.

She took a step. The unfamiliar heels twisted her ankle and she stumbled, almost falling into his chest as he still held her hand. She was so close she could feel his breath on her face.

Her shoe. She had lost her shoe. She looked down at the white pump as it lay in the gutter. She began to dip to retrieve it before he reached it before her. They rose in tandem, eyes level, as she awkwardly twisted her foot back inside.

"Thank you," she whispered, a smile dancing on her lips as she let go – his fingers drawing across hers until her fingertips dropped away from his.

He only nodded in reply. A tinge of strange disappointment stung.

The she saw it.

The white, light bulb emblazoned marquee was admittedly hard to miss. There was a dusky, red carpet laid out and small group of people queued to get in. _Clyde__'__s. _The deep blue letters hung starkly against their white background; curling and curving as they weaved their way above the entrance. Her stomach dipped as the uncertainty of earlier returned, the brandy induced bravery of earlier having faded.

He seemed to sense her hesitancy, somehow. As she paused she felt her elbow being pivoted and turned towards the door, "Let's do this," he whispered into her ear, before he had time to respond.

Quickly, they walked past the line of waiting patrons, Nick slipping a concealed note to uniformed door attendant as he pulled open the heavy, silver door. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

* * *

Instantly, Jessica's senses were pounded from every direction. In the air lingered the sweet scent of tobacco laced with the mingling of innumerate perfumes and colognes. The air was warm and moist; the heat of hundreds of bodies in the small space creating a somewhat suffocating atmosphere that caused her to take breaths deep into her lungs as they made their way across the crowded room.

Small, lined covered tables were arranged in a semi-circular formation across the expanse of lacquered oak floor; each one lit by a small lamp. Between the stage and the tables couples danced along to the jazz band that were performing on the raised stage. The thick, blue velvet curtains were pulled back into swags to reveal the performers as the music blared out across the room over the buzz of chatter.

She felt the warmth of a hand at the back of her waist; quickly she turned back her head to see Nick inches behind her, urging her forward. Finally they reached a table near the edge of the dance floor, but at the same time hidden to one side. A small white 'Reserved' card was placed on top.

Slipping off her stole she waited as he pulled out a chair for her. Mumbling thank you, she lowered herself as he pushed in the chair. His fingers grazed her bare back as she sat; his touch tingled against her skin and she felt him pull away his hand almost instantly, as if in shock. Her mouth opened to speak, when she was interrupted.

"Good evening Mr Miller."

A woman had appeared beside her – where had she come from? Exotic looking with dark skin and glossy hair, she wore a chic black dress which contrasted sharply with the crimson color of her lips.

"Cecelia, how nice."

Nick smiled as he sat. Jessica looked from man to woman confused.

"Oh, um, this is Jessica. My cousin."

Cecelia smiled and turned to Jessica. "Charmed." The word rolled out with ease but seemed laced with some acidic. Jessica felt her shoulders sink a little, awkwardness setting in.

"The usual?" Cecelia asked with raised eyebrows, as if some unknown confidence existed between the two."

"Sure," he replied, "And a bottle of champagne too,". She gave him curt nod before turning away. He carefully watch as she slowly snaked her way through the tables.

When she had disappeared from sight, Jess shifted in her chair and placed an elbow on her table until, "And who was that?" she asked.

A smile twisted over his mouth and something flashed across his eyes, she felt something unfamiliar and hot burn inside her.

"Just a waitress I know," he replied, placing his hands on the table in front of him, fingers interlaced.

"You seemed awfully familiar," she replied tartly, as she patted her hair.

"Jessica, that tasted strongly of jealousy..." the words dripped of his tongue in smooth ripples, his gravelly tones rolling the words, stretching them out.

"Ha," she snorted, turning her attention to the band, watching the saxophonist play out an elaborate solo, "You wish," she muttered, "I merely don't want this assignment to be compromised by... Unnecessary liaisons."

"Oh Day," he began, leaning closer to her, almost whispering in her ear, "I don't think _that_ particular liaison_, _is the one you should be worrying about."

Her cheeks burned at his insinuation but her mind drew blank at a smart response.

* * *

Three glasses of champagne later and Jessica had forgotten all about the ache in her feet, the scratching of her dress and the pins in her hair. She was even beginning to tolerate the company of Nick Miller as he told her stories about the scrapes he had gotten into as a crime reporter, whilst they scanned the room for this evening target – Coach.

"And so, here I was, no pants, pretending I was drunk, smoking a cigar in the back room of this Chinese restaurant, Hop Foo, when in burst three guys toting pistols and-"

He stopped mid sentence and stared straight ahead.

"And?" she prompted, until she saw the look of concentration on his face and and followed his gaze. "Wait, is that?"

"Yeah," he replied, "It's him."

The man in question moved across the room in a silky, fluid motion. He stopped every few seconds to shake a hand or place a kiss on the cheek of an attractive lady. He was tall and broad, his dark skin highlighting his crisp white shirt and well cut grey suit. Under the table her foot began to tap anxiously. This was it. This was her first challenge.

The shaking traveled up her leg and her teeth began to rattle against each other.

"Hey," his hand was on her knee, reaching beneath the white linen tablecloth. She started and looked up, "Relax."

Her eyes rolled back and closed as she steeled herself, the warmth of his hand surprisingly comforting –it didn't even occur to her to push him away.

"What if – what if-"

Suddenly, his hand was on her chin, tilting it up so their eyes met. "You can do it. Just go over, flirt a little, see what you can find out." Her breathing steadied as she focused on his deep brown eyes, the rest of the room became blurry and indistinct as his soothing tones worked their magic. "I don't think I told you earlier, but you look beautiful tonight."

"Thank you," she whispered. Some unknown force was drawing her closer to him, her body sinking closer at an almost unnoticeable pace. His hand was still on her leg, the heat was spreading up from it, up to her abdomen. Wait –was that the alcohol?

Before she knew it, they were so close his scent had became all enveloping, making her head spin (no, that was the alcohol...). His eyes seemed to widen, he was looking at her so strangely, what was happening...

"Okay, _cousin,_I think it's time for you to make your move." They were mere inches apart, and his softly spoken words were like scissors cutting the invisible string that had draw them together. She snapped back into her seat, whatever spell it was, broken.

"Yes, yes, I'd better..."

And emboldened with champagne courage, she picked up her purse and made her way across the dance floor.

* * *

She tilted her bare shoulder closer towards him as she tipped back her head and let out a peal of laughter, "Oh you are so funny!" she laughed, placing a soft hand on his chest. They were stood next to the bar at the back of the room, twenty minutes and one glass of champagne after their 'chance' meeting across the room.

"And you are adorable," Coach replied, sliding a little closer. "I'm so glad you almost fell on me earlier."

Picking up her glass of champagne, she took a small sip, looking over the rim of the glass as she did, a smile dancing at her lips.

"Hey, Jessica..."

And there was Nick Miller. All dulcid tones and whiskey scented, he appeared at her side, a half filled tumbler at his side.

"Oh, cousin, look who I met..."

"This is your cousin?" Coach asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Um Yes, this is Nick Miller, he lives here. He's showing me the nightlife."

He reached his hand across to Nick and the two men gave each other a perfunctory shake before drawing back.

"I was wondering where you had got to."

She gave Nick a look, wondering what he was up to. Did he not trust her?

"Well, dear _cousin, _I was on my way to the powder room when I tripped and this kind gentlemen saved my embarrassment."

"How... Sweet," Nick replied, taking a swig of whiskey as he spoke. "Well thank you for looking after my _cousin."_

She gave him another look, acidic and narrow eyed – she almost wanted to hiss at him. What was he playing at?

"Well Mr. Miller, if you don't mind, I'd like to invite Miss Day back to my private table."

Jess smiled triumphantly, "Oh, he doesn't mind."

Reaching over she took hold of the crook of Coach's offered arm and pushed away from the bar.

"Be a doll, _cousin, _and look after my stole."

Before he could reply she let Coach lead her away through the thronging crowds. She caught a glimpse of his face as she turned, his expression was strange – his brow furrowed and mouth turned up at one side. He was staring.

As they moved further away she felt his burning gaze on her back, like the rays of the sun multiplied by a magnifying glass, it was scorching and aching at the same time. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and pressed her body closer to her escorts.

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